


Jim thinks John's adorable even when he's all icky

by DrBDamned (orphan_account)



Series: Sweet Thing [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I liked Sarah, Jim scares people, John's adorable, M/M, Sarah puts up with a lot, Sherlock only makes a brief appearance, Sick John, mother hen Jim, poor guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DrBDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't know how to take care of himself. Luckily for him, Jim loves it when John needs to depend on him.</p><p> </p><p>Takes place in AU after The Great Game. Couple months after John's first night at Jim's place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jim thinks John's adorable even when he's all icky

John felt sleepy and sick and downright _bad_ today. He'd woken up with a pounding headache and Sherlock singing along (quite pleasantly) to ' _Hey Jude'_ down in the kitchen. What he had hoped would be a simple headache escalated into the occasional wave of dizziness, nausea, and a fever that had him shivering from the moment he dragged himself out of bed that morning to get ready for work.

He managed to escape the flat before Sherlock cottoned on to the fact that anything was wrong, as the man was too distracted by his dissection of a brain to pay John any real attention other than a demand for tea. John quietly made his tea before hurrying out the door to work.

 

***

 

 

And here he sat now, doing paperwork before he goes on his lunchbreak. _Hmm, maybe I'll take a nap instead..._

 

John's sleepy thoughts are rudely interrupted by a loud knock on the door that has him flailing in surprise, bringing on a harsh coughing fit. He waves one hand at whoever is at the door to let them know he isn't dying or anything so dramatic, but by the time he comes around Sarah's wearing a worried frown.

 

“John, are you alright? Peter thought you looked peaky when you came in this morning.”

 

The doctor clears his throat and smoothes his jumper down in an attempt to look respectable, smiling kindly up at Sarah from his desk.

 

“Quite fine, thank you. And yourself?”

 

Sarah just rolls her eyes, used to John's inability to admit he's ailing in any way. She strides over to one of the cabinets in the corner of the room and rakes around for a thermometer, then turns to scowl sternly at a puppy-eyed John.

 

“If your temperature is higher than 38°C then I'm sending you home. Now, open.”

 

John scowls back at her, but it's most likely a poor display when paired with a sheet white face. He relents and she places the thermometer in his mouth. Sarah keeps her gaze fixed on him, most likely trying to determine any other symptoms, so John just frowns down at his restless hands, not wanting to face her because he knows she's probably going to be right.

 

The thermometer beeps and as soon as Sarah sees the number she's tutting like Mrs Hudson.

 

“38.6ºC Doctor Watson. You better get your arse back home and stay there for at least two more days. I'm quite sure it's just a bout of the flu, but you still need to rest.” Her scowl turns even angrier somehow. “I don't even know why you came in the first place! You should have called, you idiot.”

 

John stares down at his lap while she rants at him, and pouts. _Too many people seem to call him an idiot. It's becoming almost offensive now._

 

“Oh, stop pouting and get your coat on!” Sarah grasps onto his arm and hauls him from his chair, and John's world suddenly swimming violently. The room is spinning and he can hear Sarah calling his name but John can only fall to his knees and try to focus on not throwing up. Sherlock taught him a breathing technique when he'd been throwing up with a concussion a few months ago that apparently helps, so John tries that.

 

 _It doesn't work, Sherlock, you liar_ is all John can think as he pukes up a small puddle of his breakfast on the carpet, thankfully avoiding Sarah and himself. A hand rubs his back in soothing circles, and another is still clasped around his arm to keep him upright as he retches and shivers pathetically. There's a commotion around him, concerned murmurs as he's pulled up much more slowly this time and by more hands, and they're guiding him out of the room that stinks of puke and into the waiting room - _which is empty as there are no appointments over lunchtime -_ his mind supplies for him.

He's guided to lie down on his side along one of the bench seats and when he peeks his suddenly heavy eyes open he sees Sarah crouching in front of him _and oh no she looks angry again_ and two other doctors who had apparently heard the commotion in his office hover above them.

 

“John, can you hear me? Do you want me to call someone to pick you up? Is Sherl- ”

 

John grunts and shakes his head. He knows who he wants. “Jim.”

 

There's a bit of a pause and the doctor blinks open his eyes again _don't remember closing them_ to see what the fuss was about. The doctor's merely looked apprehensive, and Sarah, seeing John's confusion, asks, “...are you sure?”

 

“Eh? F'course m'sure.” John closes his eyes again and rubs his face sleepily on the arm he's using as a cushion. “Call Jim.”

 

There's the gentle rustle of fabric and more quiet murmurs, and John drifts off to the feeling of someone pressing their cool, dry palm against his sweating brow and another speaking loudly into a phone.

 

“Mr Moriarty, I'm terribly sorry to bother you...”

 

John relaxes. _His Jimjam's on his way!_ And with that thought in mind, he drifts off.

 

 

 

 

Sarah hangs up the phone, hands shaking, and face white as a sheet. Doctor Macdonald, one of the two colleagues who helped her get John sorted, touches her gently on the shoulder and inquires as to what is wrong.

 

“I forgot how bloody terrifying that man is.”

 

The staff at the surgery had only caught brief glances of Jim Moriarty when the Irishman had come to pick up John after his shifts. The only time he'd actually come into the building, he had stormed straight through reception and down the corridor into Doctor Watson's office, throwing open the door without knocking, despite the shouts of protest from employees. Not a minute later Mr Moriarty came striding out the office, dragging John along behind him, a bruising grip on his upper arm. John had been calling out apologies as he was escorted out, but he didn't return to work that day. Of course he'd apologised profusely on his return to work the next week - he'd taken a few days off the day after Moriarty personally came for him, but never said why.

 

Often it was only a tall, bulky man with light hair who, according to John, went by the name of 'Moran'. He'd be on guard the whole time, eyes always searching for something potentially dangerous as he presses a hand against John's shoulder to push him towards the black sedan – _Sarah did wonder about the tinted windows_ – while John blabbers away like there's nothing at all weird about the situation.

 

Sarah wasn't sure what to expect today, but Mr Moriarty had sounded absolutely _livid_ on the phone.

She looks down at John, curled up on the bench like a toddler, a blanket tucked around him, sweaty and pale and drooling slightly.

 

“You're lucky you're a bloody brilliant doctor, John.”

 

She smooths his blanket and brushes a hand against his brow, frowning at the heat. _Why does he not take better care of himself?_

 

At that moment a car comes screeching into the car park and Sarah has barely a second to prepare herself before the formidable Mr Moriarty comes striding into reception as if he owns the place. He's dressed in a very obviously expensive charcoal suit ad his hair is slicked back in its usual way. He seems paler than usual, Sarah considers, as his black eyes sweep across the room, seemingly taking in every detail. His cold stare lands on John's small, trembling figure and Sarah finds herself relaxing as she watches his face visibly soften as he takes in the scene.

 

She always wondered about their relationship, had even thought of asking Sherlock about it. _Yeah, really._ She wondered what John could possibly be gaining from it. She'd only heard rumours about the man, but from what she's heard he's the evil version of Sherlock.

But she sees it now as Moriarty rushes to kneel beside his boyfriend, a hesitant hand coming up to gently brush John's greying hair off his sweaty forehead, and hears him gasp in shock when he feels the heat radiating from the doctor. _What is it about John Watson that makes all these geniuses fall for him?_

 

The man in question is starting to blink open his puffy, red eyes, and he grins sleepily when he sees Jim quietly panicking before him.

 

“Jimjam, you caaaaame!”

 

Sarah tries not to cringe at the pet name, but she can't stop herself from looking weirded out as she watches the scene unfold.

 

“Oh, pumpkin! My sweet kitten, I was so worried when I got the call!” He's slowly, carefully helping John sit upright, throwing away the blanket tucked around him as if it were a dirty tissue and wrapping his own black coat around a now contented John. “I'll take you back to my place now, and I'll make you soup- now don't look at me like that, I can make soup! ...or we'll order in, and we'll take a nice warm bath together and then watch a movie – any movie you want! Apart from the ones I don't want to watch. And then maybe we can prank call Sherlock because that always cheers you up and I _hate_ seeing you so sick, kitten!”

 

John's been blinking slowly up at Jim, a dopey smile on his face, probably not taking in a single word of Jim's cooing. He manages to stop him in the middle of a sentence by letting out a hurricane of a sneeze, but when John looks up at his boyfriend in adorable shock, Jim's cooing over him again - “Poor baby, sweet kitten, let me take care of you. Let daddy make it better.” - wiry arms helping John out his chair, steadying him when he stumbles.

 

Jim tucks his coat tighter around John's shoulders when the doctor starts shivering in earnest, and they shuffle only a couple of glacial steps forward when John goes startlingly white before his legs give up completely in a faint. Jim catches him around the waist, face pinched in concern as John's head lolls against his shoulder. Sarah takes a step forward to come and help, but Moriarty calls out a sharp “Seb” and Sarah almost jumps in shock when the muscular Moran steps forward from whatever corner he'd been watching from.

 

He marches towards the pair, and waits for a barely perceptible nod from his boss before lifting the petite blonde into his arms with too much ease for this to be the first time. John groans in protest but hushes up when Jim reaches over to kiss his lips softly. Sarah reigns in the urge to giggle and snap a photo when Jim suddenly turns around and pins his gaze on her. Her breath catches as he stares at her, and she audibly gulps when he casually _(but sinisterly! How does he do that??)_ raises an eyebrow at her.

 

“I'll call when John's well enough to come back to work.”

 

Sarah can't seem to find it in herself to nod, but apparently Mr Moriarty wasn't asking for permission because he's already sauntering out the door, Moran following behind with his arms full of Watson.

 

She watches as Moriarty settles into the back of car and Moran passes John over to him so the doctor can sprawl over the backseats with his head Jim's lap. It's not until Moran has hopped into the car and driven them off that Sarah can unfreeze. She looks around to find her two helpful colleagues huddled together in a corner looking traumatised, and peeks down the corridor to see if anyone had come to inquire about the fuss, only to see all the doctor's and nurses peeking their heads out office doors, eyes wide. She takes a deep breath and clears her throat.

 

“So, eh, who can pick up John's shifts for this week...?”

 

 

***

 

 

 

Back at Jim's flat, John's been fed, bathed and drugged up with enough medication that he's quite happily letting Jim take care of him. At the moment that means being dressed in his warmest pyjamas (which are actually Jim's warmest pyjamas), slouched in his lap with his bunged up head resting against Jim's designer shirt covered chest while the consulting criminal plays with his hair. They're both trying to suppress their giggles as the phone Jim is holding up between them rings for ages before it's finally answered.

 

“ _Sherlock Holmes.”_

 

John already has to hide his face under Jim's arm to muffle his laughter at the sound of Sherlock's pretentious tone. Jim grins along with him, trying to get into character.

 

“Hello?” John's sniggers, and Jim clamps the hand that was fiddling with his hair over his mouth and frowns playfully at him. John can't help it – who knew Jim was so good at Indian accents?

 

There's a pause at the other end before Sherlock drawls, _“Yes, hello?”_

 

“Can I help you, sir?” Jim bites his lip, and John can see him flushing as he tries not to laugh.

 

“ _What? You're the one who just called me.”_ Sherlock sounds frustrated already and they haven't even gotten started.

 

“No, sir, it was you who called me.”

 

There's a huff from the other end and the sound of something slamming on a table. _“I did not! Who is this?”_

 

“I'm not willing to give out any personal information before you tell me why you called me.”

 

“ _But I didn't call you, you imbecile! Are you deaf, are you stupid, did you not hear me when I told you that just seconds ago?!”_

 

There are tears running down John's fever flushed cheeks as he presses his face further into Jim's chest and giggles. Jim's hand is back to playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and he seems fully relaxed as he torments the detective.

 

“Now, sir, there's no need to get aggressive. If you just tell me why you called, we can- ”

 

Jim's cut off by a shout of anger from the other end of the line, before Sherlock tears into him.

 

“ _What is happening?! How can you not understand this?! You called me first, I never call anyone, I don't even recognize this number!”_

 

“It doesn't matter how you got this number, sir, I'd just like to know what it is you need.”

 

“ _I don't need anything, you halfwitted piece of moronic shit, I swear to fucking- ”_

 

And at that John can't hold it any more and he lets out an embarrassing snort before letting his giggles flow freely. He can feel Jim shaking beneath him with his own laughter, and looks up to find him grinning down at John, an accomplished twinkle in his eyes.

 

“ _What- I- John? Is that you and Jim again?! I can't believe the cheek of you, this is the fifth time this month! The next time I see you, I-”_

 

Jim hangs up the phone before Sherlock can finish that threat and chucks the phone onto the carpet. He snuggles down, wrapping his arms around a still giddy John, and holds him to his chest as their laughter dies down and they're both left with quiet smiles. John yawns and nuzzles his boyfriend's neck.

 

“For a genius, Sherlock sure is gullible.”

 

Jim snorts. “The man's a fucking idiot.”

 

John swats his chest half-heartedly in reply, too sleepy and content to really care. “Thanks for looking after me, Jim. Well, I mean, I should really thank Moran, he did most of the legwork, all you did was- ”

 

A soft kiss is placed on his already cooling brow, a loving threat that meant John should shut up.

 

“Any time, sugar. You'll make it up to me next week. I've bought some things online I want to try out on you...”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So Jim and John are officially boyfriends now! This one wasn't as cracky as the other's have been. Is that good? Bad? Leave a comment and let me know! Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it!


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